


Self-fulfilling prophecy

by bobadeluxe



Series: The Business of Pleasure [5]
Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Changing Tenses, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Headcanon, Love Confessions, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Night Terrors, POV Multiple, Pre-Canon, Rough Body Play, Sexual Content, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24437758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: Chaos is prophesied.(Or the one where Midas is visted in his dream.)
Relationships: Brutus/Midas (Fortnite)
Series: The Business of Pleasure [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734541
Comments: 21
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will my fic ever catch up with The Device. Probably never.

Midas is dreaming, but that does not make it any less unpleasant. A dream is as real as it can convince the mind, and the intruder of his consciousness has — simply by existing at all — a reality-defying presence.

Darkness. Footsteps echoing in the void. Then, a wisp of blood and tar, rising upward without regard to gravity. A lean, slick silhouette appears in his sight, crowned by the flowing, organic substance. They wear a black suit. They always wear a black suit. Midas' eye often fails him, but even if he wasn't blind — no human could perceive the void. If not for the red tie around their neck, their suit would simply be a blind spot of the eyes. Light has been absorbed into them and now – nothing.

Nothing but them.

" _Tsk. Tsk. Tsk_." Their voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at once. "We meet again. How disappointing, Midas."

"Doctor — "

"No, no, no. No. That would not do. I do not go by that name anymore, as you most certainly know by now. I have been freed of such worldly restraint." They lean down to look at him from an impossible height. "You will refer to me as Chaos Agent."

A shiver runs down Midas' spine. Even in his dream, he could feel his blood turning to ice in his veins. His heart grows frozen cold.

Fortunately, they move away. Though his relief is short lived as Chaos Agent begins to pace, circling around him. 

"I am very fond of this title," They hum. "It describes my purpose and my role. Far more accurate than the name I've been given when I was — when I was…?"

Thunder strikes, cracking in the still air. Static sparks between the space around them like ripples in a pool of ink.

"But I digress." They put their hands together in front of them. Their very being barely held together under the latex-like gloves. Midas could see some of them out, rising out, at the wrists. "A congratulation is in order. Look at you now, with your new-found power. Tell me — Does it make you feel large and powerful? Does it put you above others?"

Midas would answer, but he couldn't. Words die in his throat. He feels as if he is suffocating, that if he opens his mouth he would choke and drown. Is this still a dream?

"I, too, was once under the illusion that I could become.. more." For a second, they almost sound wistful. Though Midas doubts they could feel anything but utter contempt. "I believed science would bring me to Where No Man Has Ever Gone Before. Look at me now."

"A failed experiment," Midas finally manages to spit out.

"Am I?"

It's only a second of hesitation, but even that is too long. "Yes."

Chaos Agent laughs without merth. "No. My agents and I are proof that, in this world, there are forces which can not be tempted with. Forces bigger than our organizations, and are far beyond both of our comprehension. You cannot defy them. The only way to achieve true power is to surrender to the chaos."

Another ripple. Another crack in the void. An explosion that will consume them all.

"We will meet soon," They say with certainty. "Here is my parting warning, the storm is brewing.”

Midas wakes up.

* * *

  
  


The pistol is leaden in his hand, despite its shimmering gold sheen. Cold sweat makes his shirt stick to his back and his hair, tousled from sleep, clings to his forehead. His hand is unsteady but at this distance it doesn't matter. He can't miss.

Brutus looks up at him, face impassive. "Hell of a way to wake a man up, sir."

"Who do you work for?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Shouldn't you know that?"

"Not the time for jokes, agent." Midas enunciated by pressing his pistol harder against Brutus' skull. "There are defects in The Agency and they are spreading amongst my ranks. It's only a matter of time before they convert my lieutenants. Why not start with the one closest to me?"

"So you _are_ aware of the defects."

"Of course."

"..Why not intervene? You never acknowledge when – "

"I think I will be the one asking the questions." Midas moves the safety off with his thumb. "Well?"

Brutus stays perfectly still.

"I am loyal to you, and to your cause," He finally says. "I'm afraid you can only take my words for it."

They are at a stand still. Midas' accusation holds as much water as the evidence Brutus has to disprove it. Which is to say, none at all.

The safety is turned on with a barely audible click, and the pistol is moved away. Though both of them know that Midas is not convinced. He may never be.

"It's...been a rough night." Midas rubs his eyes with his other hand. He sits at the edge of the bed, back turned to Brutus, avoiding eye contact. The pistol is still in his hand, though it feels less, somehow. Weaker. "A rough month. A rough year."

It's the closest to an apology Brutus is going to get. If he even expected one, that is. He should know Midas better by now.

"A rough life?" Brutus muses.

Midas chuckes. "Perhaps."

"You sounded like you were having a nightmare."

"And you didn't wake me up?"

"I didn't want to get my teeth kicked in again." It sounds like a joke, but Midas could hear his grimace. "Good thing, too. Considering how the first thing you did when you woke up was to grab a gun."

"I doubt I have the coordination to shoot someone in my sleep."

"I never underestimate you." There is a surprising honesty to his tone; it sounds like admiration.

Still?

Midas looks at him over his shoulders. Their eyes meet. Brutus is laying on his side — _has been_ laying on his side — staring at his back.

"You are an oddity," Midas points out.

Brutus shrugs. "I think you're giving me too much credit."

"You are," he insists. "No power, no connection, unassuming, and a modest background to boost.”

“Which makes me the perfect plant?” Seeing Midas’ blank expression, he concedes. “Okay.”

Midas sighs. “It’s not personal.. Well, it is, but you can see why.”

Typical. Of all the agents to crawl into bed with Midas, it _has_ to be Brutus. Granted, he would be this paranoid (reasonably so?) regardless of who it is, but still. Maybe he should blame it on the damn vault that locked them together. Maybe he should blame himself for letting it get out of control. When has getting involved with someone ever worked out for him?

Stupid. 

“My name is actually Marcus,” Brutus says all the sudden. “Dad was obsessed with Ancient Rome.”

“Huh?” It barely registers. “Oh, Marcus, Brutus. Yeah.”

“It was just me and him. Mom left as soon as she realized marrying dad was a mistake. He wasn’t a bad guy, not a bad father either. Just couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions stamped on the bottom. Took three failed businesses until I knew I had to raise myself. I used to resent his incompetence, but looking back on it I think he tried his best."

Midas doesn’t know what to say to all that, so he just stares at him. Brutus continues on.

“I took jobs around town. Nothing illegal, just things people hire kids to do to save money. Then I started to want things. Kid things. Like… a motorcycle I didn’t even know how to ride. So I got myself involved with a gang, got that motorcycle, then I got my ass handed into juvie.”

“Do you still have the motorcycle?” Midas asks.

“No, when I got out I hammered that thing to hell in a blind blood rage.” Before Midas could ask _WHY_ , he adds, “I blamed it. I was a _really_ stupid kid. You wouldn’t have liked me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

Brutus cringes. “Oh, but I do.”

Midas smiles. He’s facing Brutus now, with legs crossed, and resting his chin on his hand with one elbow on his knee. The pistol rests on his other thigh. “I’m going to buy you another motorcycle.”

“Please don’t.” He looks genuinely put off by the idea.

“Why? You’re going to beat it up again?” Midas teases.

“No, I just don’t need the reminder.” Though he smiles when he hears Midas laugh. "I tried to go legit, but at that point it was impossible to stay on the right side of the laws. One thing led another.."

"Are you telling me this so I'd feel obligated to overshare in return?"

"No offense, sir, but you can be very self-involved sometimes," Brutus says with a suppressed laughter. "Not everything I do is an attempt to undermine you."

"Fine," Midas rolls his eye. "Why, then?"

He is already aware of Brutus’ origin. Though his file lacks the specific parts, and the sentimentality in which he tells them, it contains more or less the same information. What kind of fool would Midas be if he doesn't know his employees’ backgrounds? It’s how they met at the bar on that fateful night.

“I suspect you already know most of this.” Ah, so even he knows. “But it’s different when you hear it from my mouth, isn’t it?”

Midas blinks. “I.. suppose so."

Brutus reaches toward him – careful to avoid the pistol – rough fingers gently tracing over his golden knuckles. He doesn’t try to coax the gun out of his palm, Midas wouldn’t let him even if he did, but his touch would be quite persuasive to weaker men. Brutus rests his palm on the back of his hand, his warmth a pulsing reminder of being alive. Being here, on the bed, with the subject of his desire. The moment is tender between them, and fragile too.

“Hypothetically – “

“You do not want me to entertain that thought, Agent.”

“Hypothetically,” Brutus soldiers on. “If I were to betray you, what fate awaits me?”

“Are you asking for reference?”

“Humor me.”

Midas doesn’t like to think about it, not because of ethics or morals, but because once he starts he won’t be able to stop. Midas is obsessive by nature. He thinks about it anyway. Allows himself to indulge that part of him by imagining Brutus as solid gold. He would cut quite a statue with his psychique, broad shoulders and muscular torso glistening with radiant warmth. Though the tattoos will disappear, and Midas has always found them endearing.

Brutus won’t be the first person who stabs him in the back, and he’s far from the last. Loyalty is but a fickle. Nothing in this world is quite as certain as human greed. Everyone has their price, anyone who says otherwise just hasn't figured out how much it is yet. From Midas’ experience, it’s always cheaper than their dignity would suggest. He can buys anyone. 

Brutus has put himself in quite a precarious position, isn’t he? Midas is fond of him, which gives him a certain level of power, perhaps even over Midas himself. Though it puts him at risk too, because when he does exercise that power, it’ll be _personal._ It won’t just be like any other nameless, faceless henchmen whose lives – quite frankly – mean nothing to Midas. When Brutus turns against him, it will break his heart, and Midas will never forgive him for it.

Who knows what he will do then. Love drives men wild.

“Midas?”

“Get some rest, Agent.” Midas pulls his hand away, and gets up from the bed. “Long day tomorrow. We have much work to be done.”

He walks outside to the deck. Brutus does not follow him. Above him the sky is vast, wild, and for the first time utterly devoid of stars. Heavy clouds forming over his head, bruised purple, beaten bloody, darkened with anger. The storm is brewing; chaos approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma stop writing this series for a while until The Device happens (and a new chapter starts, woo!) in the meanwhile I would probably update my other wips, like Sigo (Sig/Hugo lmao, I named it) or more Domidas. I also have WIPs of Sanctum/Dire/Dusk, Deadfire/Deadeye, and................... can you tell fortnite is my current hyperfixation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback.

The good doctor took a long, hard look at their latest test subject; the Goliath whose resemblance to man had only been gradually decreasing in these past few days. Oh, wasn't he a sight for sore eyes? He might just be their biggest accomplishment yet. Shackled and trapped in a tank he may be, but he was free — more than he ever was in his so-called former life. Free from societal restraints, and will soon surpass them once he was stripped of his humanity and following it, _mortality_.

They put one hand on the glass surface of the tank, to feel the bioluminescent fluids inside cooled their palm. They could see the reflection of their smile, proud and predatory, a wolfish grin that was not reciprocated by the masked man. One couldn't help but wonder what his expression right now would be like, beneath all of those feeding tubes. Agony? Fury? _Pleasure?_ The mask left much to the imagination.

And the projecting.

 _"Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to_ _mould me Man,"_ A familiar voice spoke up behind them, followed by approaching footsteps. Elevator dress shoes clicked their heels on the linoleum floor. _"Did I solicit thee, From darkness to promote me?"_

"Hello, Midas," The good doctor turned to look at him; his business associate. "Hm, I want to say.. Paradise Lost?"

"You know your literature," Midas nodded in approval. "How is he coming along?"

"Oh, couldn't be better. All test subjects prior to this one died around stage three. We're currently at stage five and he has shown no negative sign to the serum. In fact, his body reacted to it remarkably well."

"It," Midas frowned. "You mean Slurp Juice."

"Well," The doctor cleared their throat. "Yes. That's the marketing name for it."

Midas didn't bother hiding his disdain. "Never liked the name. Let us hope you will call him something better."

For a second, the doctor amused themselves with even more moronic names. A name so ironically poisoned, just to spite the snob. They were not above petty revenge. 

They didn't vocalize their thoughts, of course. "Yes. Most certainly."

What a nuisance. Midas had been not-so-subtly pressuring them lately into prioritizing _him_ over their ongoing research. The nerve! 'Powerful' men were often deluded with self-importance to the degree where they formed their own gravitational field. Everything else had little choice but to revolve around them. 'Midas' seemed to have convinced himself that the power of The Golden King was the key to his plan. The doctor didn't share his enthusiasm however. Gold was worthless to them. The noble metals were valued only for their.. lack of anything remarkable. Their mediocrity. Though it's value wasn't as arbitrary as a diamond, it was still utterly uninspiring. Gold, and along with it, Midas, was chemically uninteresting.

This work required a lot of dealing with unpleasant characters, unfortunately. Sooner or later they had to address this 'Oro', else Midas would never cease with his pestering and hovering. This must have been the third time this week that he showed up to their lab unannounced, and during the witching hour to boost. Midas took full advantage of his clearance level, and their abnormal sleeping pattern. It was difficult to tell someone off when he was providing funds for your research, though.

"How may I help you, Midas?" The doctor asked. "I doubt you are here to marvel at my specimen."

"Straight to business then," Midas said with a smirk. Deep brown eyes shined golden under the lights. It felt like an omen, somehow. Like seeing his true color. There was not much in the world that they wouldn't do to take a scalpel to his unblemished, symmetrical face —

"Doctor — "

* * *

This time, Midas wakes up with Brutus on top of him. He's holding Midas down by one arm, pressing hard into his chest. Midas could feel Brutus' muscles strain and flex, heavy as a log and hurts like one too when it grinds against his ribcage. It hurts. He hears a whimper and is terrified that it's his. Brutus shifts to straddle his legs but even if he didn't, Midas still wouldn't have enough strength to lift up his lower body. He's left breathless, weak, his fingers loosen their grip and the pistol slips from his grasp. He's too drained to catch it in time, and it falls from the edge of the bed onto the floor.

"You have a problem sir," Brutus says. Too calm for comfort.

"Ob..obviously. I knew that," Midas tries to speak. His chest feels too tight for words. He ends up coughing, choking on air between words. "Let go of me this instant, agent. That is an order."

Brutus doesn't move.

"Brutus!" Midas could feel his heart drop from his chest to his feet. Shivers run down his spine. _"Oh no."_

He's panicking; he's turning into gold. There's no stopping it. It spreads quicker than a forest fire, already consumed most of his body in what felt like _seconds._ When it gets to his chest, the gold swirls climb upward to Brutus' arm. Midas tries to control his quickened breathing, his beating heart, but by the time he's turned into gold entirely, it already spreads to Brutus' elbow. He wouldn't break contact with Midas either, so his power doesn't stop consuming what it perceived to be a threat to its host. Why the hell did Midas go through all the troubles to restraint himself when Brutus _literally_ sticks his arm into danger? Fuck!

"You idiot!" Midas yells. "You're going to get yourself killed! No, it's even worse than that — "

 _"_ Calm down _,_ " Brutus _scolds_ him. He doesn't even acknowledge that his entire right arm is now gold. 

Midas begins to struggle, trying to throw the _stupid_ bodyguard off of him. With his body now hardened with gold, he has more strength than earlier to fight him. Not much though, and not enough. Brutus uses his other hand to hold Midas wrists to the headboard, unbothered that upon contact his right hand is already stained gold. Midas couldn't stop staring at the way Brutus' sleeve does _not_ move with his motion. It sticks out, no longer made of fabric.

That must've triggered something inside him, because Midas manages to buck until Brutus is shifted off-balance to the left. He regains his composure fast, and moves to straddle him again, but not before Midas knees him right in the crotch.

Brutus screams all sorts of colorful swears in the English language, but grits his teeth through the pain and does not release his grip. Damnit. Fuck him for being competent.

"You call yourself a mastermind? Have some goddamn self-control!" He sounds more irritated than angry, which is surprising.

"I. Am. Trying. If you would just let go of me so I can – "

Brutus kisses him.

His first instinct is to bite down. Maybe rip his goddamn face off since he clearly doesn't seem to be enjoying having a body made out of flesh. Then Brutus licks into his lips, and suddenly his resistance melts away with his common sense. With each deepening kiss, he's becoming increasingly aware of the state he is in. How powerless he is under Brutus. His grip burns around Midas' wrist like red-hot iron shackles, and he must be able to hear (or _feel_ ) his heart beating fast. Hard. Brutus shifts, and now Midas is spreading his legs, rubbing himself on the bodyguard's thigh as Brutus positions one leg between his. Their bodies press close together when he leans down for a kiss, and this time he doesn't let up. The friction isn't exactly comfortable, but it feels _good._ The solid weight of his broad shoulders, his _heat_ , the way it seeps into him like wine. Midas' golden form turns every sensation into a shadow of itself; it makes him light-headed with pleasure.

Brutus only breaks their kiss when they both turn to 'normal'. By then, he's already hard and leaking against his silk robe. Brutus doesn't let it escape notice, that observant bodyguard.

"You're hard," Brutus says, as casual as stating the weather. He pushes Midas' robe up his thigh, pulls his underwear down, and takes his cock into his palm.

"This – is so – " Midas tries to stifle a groan, even though he's already pushing his hips into Brutus' hand. " _Humiliating._ "

"Shh, it's okay, sir." The audacity he has to _comfort_ Midas while he's jerking him off. "You did well. You were so good for me."

"What? No, I wasn't. I did terribly. Don't lie."

Brutus looks exasperated. "Sir."

"Sorry," Midas mumbles under his breath. He feels chastised. And horny. "Keep going, please. I'm so close."

"Already?" He chuckles.

Midas rolls his eye. "Now who's the asshole?"

Brutus doesn't answer. "Come for me."

He does, with a moan so loud every henchman on the yacht must hear.

For the third time this week.

His night terror has been occuring more frequently than usual these past few weeks. Brutus could only take getting a loaded gun shoved into his face twice before he fights back. First it was only to subdue him, but then it kind of.. spiraled. Trying to disarm a half-awake, disoriented man who can turn things into gold is already a stupid idea, but jerking him off afterward is even stupider. There's a point to this – but Midas doesn't quite buy it. So maybe his behavior hasn't been safe nor sane, and _maybe_ panicking so bad he almost shot his subordinate because of a dream is.. not a good look. Still, his power has a self-defense mechanism for a reason, and trying to 'train' it away doesn't sit well with him.

Gold is malleable. 

"Was that better or worse than last time?" Midas asks as he sits up. His thighs are slick with come, and his robe is slipping off his shoulders.

Midas tries to put himself together the best he can. He knows he looks a complete mess; he lost weight and he's sleep-deprived. He must be paler too, since he barely gets any sunlight at all. He's been in his office looking over the blueprint of.. well, it doesn't matter. Point is, he feels terrible and he looks like it, too. 

"Worse," Brutus admits. "You took longer, and I was almost.. turned."

Midas looks away. "I see."

As long as there's a part of them left, even one finger, the curse – the infection – whatever you call it, could still be undone. Once they're turned is another matter.

Midas shivers. "This is too risky. We are not doing this again."

Brutus frowns at him. "I should be the one who assesses the risks, don't you think?"

"No, I don't, and you aren't."

"Sir, with all due respect –"

"I don't want to lose you, you stupid brute," Midas snaps. "As satisfying it would be to turn you, I much prefer you to be alive and _sentient_ because I.. like.. you."

Great. Wonderful. Midas just _had_ to say that, hadn't he? Brutus is right; he severely lacks self-control. He shouldn't be this shaken, and _normally_ he wouldn't slip something that personal out loud. His grip on this reality is slipping fast, and now he's gone and ruined the only good thing he has. Had. He's going to have to kill Brutus or something. Feed him to sharks.

He's looking at the pistol on the floor when Brutus _hugs_ him from behind. He pulls Midas into his lap, paying no mind to the way he squirms and protests. Once he settles down and accepts this ridiculous predicament, Brutus leans down to rest his chin on his shoulder.

"I like you too, sir," Brutus whispers.

Midas cringes. "You have a deathwish, agent."

"Yes," He says with a peck on his cheek. "I have a deathwish and it's you."

"Be careful what you wish for," Midas softly reprimands. "It might just kill you."

Brutus chuckles. "I am well aware, sir."

"Kiss me?"

It doesn't sound stern enough to be a command, but Brutus follows his words anyway. He gently tilts Midas' head, and leans in for a kiss. Midas sighs. At least he's obedient. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I won't update until the device happens  
> The device: *is delayed twice*  
> Me: aw nvm
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr blog now under the same username. I am barely active on there but that's where I'll be posting my bullshit every now and then.


End file.
